


In this world of memories

by Castalie



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Conflicted Feelings about their Violent Meeting, Ends with Orgasms, Introspection, M/M, Mention of Past Violence, Mutual Masturbation, Nightmares, Pre-Movie, starts with angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25628146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castalie/pseuds/Castalie
Summary: “Tutto bene, Nicky?” Joe asks, voice rough from sleep. He keeps his voice low, so as not to wake the others, but Nicky doesn’t miss the sharpness in his tone. Joe is already on alert.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 16
Kudos: 374





	In this world of memories

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, massive thanks to Linda for the in-depth beta and Greedy Dancer for her precious help
> 
> (There is a small reference to my own fic “Time passed, maybe too long” because I thought it’d be fun to make it so this fic was in the same ‘verse (well, I thought it would be fun to _me_ at least, and self-indulgence is Important, right?). There is absolutely no need to read that other fic, though, but if you have, that’s why the Silent!Nicky bit might sound familiar #SorryNotSorry)

* * *

Nicky startles awake and sits up in bed, gasping. He puts his back to the wall and tries to find his breath. The room is pitch dark; it takes him a second to remember where he is - or when.

Poznań, Poland, 2016. They’re on their way to Germany after completing a mission.

His mind instinctively evaluates his surroundings to make sure everything is secure: Joe is beside him, awake now with him, his hand a warm, reassuring weight on his hip. Nicky can hear Andy’s deep breathing in one corner of the room. From the snoring coming from the vicinity of the couch, Nicky supposes Booker never made it to his own bed, but he’s here, too. 

“Tutto bene, Nicky?” Joe asks, voice rough from sleep. He keeps his voice low, so as not to wake the others, but Nicky doesn’t miss the sharpness in his tone. Joe is already on alert. 

“Sì.” He can feel Joe relax immediately. Nicky _is_ ok. Mostly. He just needs to get his bearings. He can’t seem to shake off the uneasy feeling as the nightmare lingers… No, not the nightmare, the _memory_. 

The memory of confusion and violence, of a sharp knife cutting his throat, of terror as he knows he’s dying, _again_. More unsettling yet, the memory of hands that would one day make him feel like he was the most precious thing on Earth, but at that time a synonym for fear and pain. 

He tries to take another deep breath and almost gags; it feels like he’s still choking on his own blood. 

“That doesn’t sound like a very convincing ‘ok’ to me.” Joe’s voice has lost any suggestion of sleep. He’s fully awake, and apparently ready to inflict harm upon whoever caused Nicky’s distress. 

Nicky smiles at the irony of the sentiment, but doesn’t reply immediately; he’s trying to make sense of what he’s feeling. He reaches a hand in the direction of the bedside table next to him and fumbles around a little until his fingers find what he’s looking for: the water bottle he left there when they went to bed. He drinks, and lets the liquid soothe his throat and wash away the remaining taste of blood mixed with sand. He doesn’t bother putting it back in its place, just lets it fall by the side of the bed before he lies down on his side, facing Joe. He extends a hand towards his lover’s face and takes a moment to enjoy the roughness of his beard against his palm. 

“Giving me the silent treatment, Nicky?” Joe’s tone shows he’s merely joking, but Nicky understands that Joe is also asking a real question. Nicky will sometimes go silent for a short or long period of time, as a way to process things when they become too much. It hasn’t happened in a long time, but Joe is always on the look-out when it comes to his well-being, be it physical or mental.

“It was just a distant memory,” he replies at last.

“Ah. How distant?” 

Nicky shrugs; he’s aware that Joe can’t see, but their bodies are so close that he must feel the gesture. 

“I see. One of _those_ memories?” It’s not really a question. Joe knows; his voice shows a bit more intent. “Which time?”

“Does it matter?” Nicky asks quietly. It doesn’t, not to him. Not anymore. Even if his brain doesn’t always seem to agree, it is only a distant memory. He is not even sure he would recognise those two men. Sometimes he feels pity for them. Of course, they got their happy ending, but their origin story is so sad - nothing but mistrust and unadulterated hatred… ignorance at its finest. 

No matter how often they discuss the first time their eyes fell on each other, full of that pitiful righteous anger, and the few days that followed - then the few weeks after that and the few months after _that_ \- he feels uneasy. By now, their meeting and the many deaths that occurred at each other’s hands are part of their collective history, a single story that is often referenced between their team and sometimes gently mocked, almost as if it were a typical immortal romantic story. Quynh, in particular, had always found the story of great interest. She had a sort of reverence for violence in all forms and enjoyed the idea of two lovers coming together in such a fashion.

Nicky has never begrudged them their fun. When it comes down to it, he acknowledges that there is beauty in overcoming such dire obstacles. He truly believes that if that was the price to pay to fall in love with Joe, it was well worth it, and he would gladly pay it again. But sometimes he can’t help having regrets. He deplores the violence of that first meeting and wishes he could go back and tell those two men - those two strangers - what awaits them. He would tell them that death wasn’t necessary, that they could learn to know each other, trust each other, without the pain and the blood - that they would, one day, fall in love. But destiny is destiny. That was how they had come to be; it couldn’t be changed.

“My Nicolò has very deep thoughts, tonight,” Joe says, interrupting his musing. It’s his turn to extend a hand towards Nicky’s face, gentle, unhurried fingers caressing his hair, his skin. 

Nicky can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. He knows Joe can feel it even though he can’t see him. Nicky chases Joe’s fingers with his lips and kisses the tip of them.

“Always, when it comes to you.”

“See, this is _much_ better.” Joe moves and pushes Nicky onto his back before he is covering Nicky’s lithe body with his own, his elbows resting on each side of Nicky’s head. Joe’s body is heavy, hard; Nicky loves it. It doesn’t feel suffocating, just safe. Sexy. He thrusts against Joe, almost like an after-thought, and stifles a moan when Joe rocks back against him, adding more weight yet.

“We shouldn’t, Nicky,” Joe whispers against his cheek, clever lips trailing a path along the sensitive skin of his neck. It makes Nicky’s whole body tingle in the most delicious way.

“I know,” he replies, already a bit breathless. The _anticipation_ never fails to excite him. Joe is, of course, right. They shouldn’t. It’s not the right time nor the right place. They try not to fuck when they’re staying in the same room as Andy and Booker. Of course, sometimes they simply can’t help it, and they just _have_ to have each other. In times like these, they don’t really care where they are or who’s around to hear them; after all, privacy is quite a modern concept, as Andy keeps explaining to Booker. 

Most of the time they _do_ try to be discreet - if only for Booker’s benefit - so Nicky agrees, intellectually, that they shouldn’t be doing this. Yet his body is already on board. He rocks back against Joe, enjoying the friction. And now he wants _more_. 

“Make me come, Joe?” 

“Holy shit, Nicky.” Joe’s body goes rigid at his request, as he knew it would. “If Book wakes up because of you, you’re on your own!” But Joe is already sliding one hand inside Nicky’s shorts, calloused fingers taking him firmly, squeezing him just right. 

As hot as he is, Nicky wonders if he does want to go all the way now, but he hesitates for only a second before he maneuvers their bodies so that they’re facing each other again, each on their side; it gives him better access. He puts his own hand inside Joe’s pants and wraps it around Joe’s hard dick.

The angle is all wrong, they can’t move as they want to, they have to keep silent... The whole scenario is so fucking _hot_ , Nicky knows he won’t last. He promises himself to find some time to get properly reacquainted with Joe's dick in the very near future. Right now, he just wants to come and to make Joe come. He curls his body around Joe’s hand and pushes his head to his shoulder, mouthing the hot skin; his teeth graze the sensitive skin there without biting, which makes Joe shiver all over. Nicky is so _close_. Then Joe tightens his hold one more time, and Nicky can’t stop his hips from thrusting forward. He’s trying not to lose the rhythm of his own stroking, but is not sure he succeeds, although Joe doesn’t seem to care. 

Joe’s breath is hot against his skin and Nicky can’t stop himself; he comes hard in Joe’s hand. Joe follows right away, biting Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky has to physically stop himself from crying out at the sharp pain, and bites his lips. He wishes the sensation would last. Wishes he could have Joe’s mark on his skin forever.

“Damn.” Joe’s raspy voice makes his cock twitch, even though he knows he couldn’t come again right now. 

He bites Joe’s earlobe playfully before Joe chases his lips in return. They kiss lazily while their bodies cool down a little. When they have come down from the high, they swiftly remove their underwear and proceed to do a perfunctory clean-up. Nicky knows they smell of each other now, like they haven’t for some time. Something a bit primal stirs in him at the thought. 

Joe takes their shorts and throws them at the end of the bed. Nicky wonders what Booker will think in the morning when he notices the clothes discarded like that. 

“Let me, Nicolò,” Joe starts. He feels Joe move his body so that they can sleep in their favourite position, spooning with no separation between them. 

Joe kisses him one last time. “Can you go back to sleep, now?”

Nicky feels light as a feather; his nightmare-memory seems almost like it happened a lifetime ago. He nods and lets himself fall asleep in Joe’s arms.


End file.
